The Apple of His Eye
by Me.Vicky
Summary: An artist named "Apple" meets a guy called Seto. Can she reconcile this with her friendship to Bakura, or will everything she's ever held dear fall apart? Kaiba x OC x Bakura
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing here that could, conceivably, get me in trouble. Author's notes at the end, guys. And I love you all. Kisses!

-=+=-

There's just something about lying on your back, eating Cheez-Its straight from the box, staring out the window on a rainy Tuesday morning that makes me feel…I dunno, like a-

"Lazy lump of nothingness?"

Sorry, I have a tendency to speak (and sometimes shout) at myself at random moments.

Hi guys. I'm Apple. Not really, but that's what my parents call me; something to do with my favorite baby food.

Naturally, my Japanese friends here in Domino City call me Ringo. To tell you the truth, that kinda bugs me too, but whatever.

My real name is Fontaine. Yes, Fontaine Whithead. I hate that even more than I hate Apple, so I guess you have to trade off something, right?

I attend night classes at Domino City Tech University. I'm studying to get a degree in computer maintenance, but what I really want to be is an ARTISTE. I love to paint stuff and build stuff and cut stuff up and glue stuff to other stuff…

I'm free all day today, maybe I should-

Oh, snaps and dang. I just realized it's Tuesday morning, and Tuesday is the day I interview for a new part-time job downtown.

"Why am I doing this to myself? I don't even want the job that bad."

Even though I don't want it, babysitting my own siblings for Mom and Dad doesn't put food on the table.

"I could always go back and live with Mom and Dad..."

Oh, no, that's not an option. They kicked me out because of the whole learn-to-be-independent thing they heard about at their last self-help seminar. Curses, why can't I have normal parents who just let me-

"Be a normal college student who doesn't have to pay rent on an apartment her sophomore year?"

Oopsie, there I go again.

Now, time to get up. Remember, job interview, so dress to impress…

So, tank top, jeans and bare feet? I know myself so well.

I hate shoes, by the way. On occasion I wear sixty-year-old Birkenstocks my Grammy used to wear when she was a hippie, but only when Mom threatens me with my life.

Dad, thankfully, doesn't really care whether or not I wear shoes, as long as I'm not "out with a strange boy", as he likes to remind me every week.

-=+=-

So anyways, I hit the street once it's stopped raining, but everything is drippy and moist. I kinda wish I could run back in to my apartment and grab my hoodie, but there's no time. I'll be late if I waste time fooling around…hmm, what to do?

Guess I just start walking to the train station. If it's not meant to be, I won't get the job, right?

As I'm walking, a car stops on the road beside me.

"Hey, pretty lady, wanna ride?"

Oh, no oh no ohnoohnohnohnohnohnooooo… WAIT! Calm down, breathe deeply, don't panic, eyes forward.

"No, thank you."

Nicely handled, Apple!

The guy doesn't leave. "Hey, Apple, did you hear me?"

Hang on, I wasn't aware any male predators knew my nickname. Or spoke with such adorable British accents.

I turn to see it's only Bakura. Aww, he's so CUTE.

"Jeez, man, you almost made me have a panic attack!" I laugh.

I run over and hop into his red convertible. "Thanks, man!"

"No problem. Where are you headed?"

I groan. "I've got a job interview on the east side of town. Can you drop me at the New Age day care, or is that too far?"

He laughs. "Don't be silly, Apple-chan. For you, I'd drive anywhere."

"So, where are YOU off to, Bakura?"

"I've gotta get to MY job. That stupid pizza place is going to be the death of me." He makes a face.

Poking him in the shoulder, I grin. "At least you get free pizza on Wednesdays. Besides, you're cute when you're covered in flour."

He blushes and laughs, kinda self-consciously. Oh my God, he is soooooo cute when he blushes.

See, me and 'Kura go all the way back to the third grade swing set. We've been friends since EVER.

After about twenty minutes of driving and chit-chat, we finally arrive. I step out of the car, shut the door, then lean in the window. "So, we hanging out this weekend, or what?"

"Dunno, I might have something going on. But I'll try to make an appearance…"

I frown at him. "You'd better, you know you're like my best friend ever."

He smiles in that soft way, you know, that cute way he does sometimes. He's like a marshmallow Peep, or something. I just wanna bite his head off, he's so cute!

"See ya, 'Kura." As I turn to walk towards the building, he says, "Hey! How are you getting back to your apartment?"

"Train, I guess. No big deal."

"Just be careful, okay?" He sounds a little concerned. "Don't talk to any weirdoes, or anything."

"I KNOW, I KNOW. Go to work or YOU'LL be late, you loser!"

Laughing, he drives off, honking the horn before he disappears around the corner.

What a great guy, huh? He's one of the coolest people I know.

Back to the task at hand, though.

Crossing the pavement as quickly as possible, I cut through foot traffic, working my way towards the giant building with "KCorp" emblazoned all over it.

"Jeez, talk about overcompensating."

Finally, I reach the revolving glass door that is the front entrance.

Alright, I know I'm late, and this is a job interview and everything, but I can't resist running around in the revolving door for a few minutes. I mean, those things are just so much fun!

Dizzy and giggly, I head in a loopy line to the receptionist's desk.

"Hey, I'm Apple Whithead. I'm here for-"

"Mr Kaiba has been waiting for you," she interrupts, tapping her perfect fingernails against her clipboard impatiently. "He's in room 306A on the sixth floor."

Well, okay then. "Thank you, ma'am, for your hospitality, and please do have a pleasant day," I gush, turning on the charm.

No dice. She looks unamused as she files some paperwork. Okay, so people here don't like words of affirmation. I'll just have to get used to it.

After wandering for a bit, I finally find the elevator and ride it to the eighth floor, walk down two flights of stairs (well, why not?) and wander a bit more before finding room 306A. With a deep breath, I throw the door open.

Dark. I think the light's off. The only shred of luminescence is from a window at the back of the room, its shades slatted to let in just a bit of light.

Silhouetted, almost framed in the window is a tall, lanky dark figure. I guess that's Mr Kaiba? He's just standing there.

An overhead fan is lazily stirring the air above our heads.

You know what? This is exactly like what I imagine the private eye's office is like in detective noir novels.

I stand in the doorway, waiting for him to say something.

Finally, he lifts his head, and a pair of cold and strikingly beautiful blue eyes meets mine.

A deep voice cuts the atmosphere in the room like a knife. "You're late."

-=+=-

Authors notes: Overwhelmed by the positive feedback I've been getting here (jeez, at mediaminer NOBODY reviews my stuff) I've decided to take on yet ANOTHER project; this time, I'm re-vamping a two-year-old story from my Quizilla days. This fic is the product of that deranged little experiment.

New chapters to follow as I find time. Don't be surprised if things just get edited, too. That's the way I roll, dudes.

And thanks for everything so far!


	2. Chapter 2

A deep voice cuts the atmosphere in the room like a knife. "You're late. I can't say much for your punctuality. Or," the voice becomes patronizing, "your personal appearance."

Huh? I look down at myself. What's wrong with my "appearance"?

"Sit down." Thin, pale fingers descend upon a desk lamp and flick the switch. Suddenly, the room is suffused with a sickly, almost blue light.

A tall man in a trenchcoat takes a seat behind the desk that separates us, props his elbows and laces his fingers. His eyes never leave mine.

Wow, his eyes. I mean, WOW. They're like these frozen blue marbles set in a face of cold granite. They're beautiful.

I move to the desk in a trance, hypnotized by those eyes. They're so-

"Resume?" A hand extends across the expanse of mahogany and opens, palm up, before my face; an inquisition. Distracted from his eyes, I stare at it, uncomprehending.

"Huh?"

His voice takes on an edge of, I dunno, something. Something rough. "A resume. Previous jobs, credentials, references, experience, contact info? Anything?"

"Oh, nope. I don't have any of those kind of things," I inform him brightly.

My sunshine falls flat. "I see." The hand withdraws, retreats to a blue-lined notepad on his side of the desk. This leaves me free to concentrate on his eyes again. They're so secretive. I wonder, what kind of thoughts go on behind them?

He picks up the notepad and a shiny metal pen. "So, let's run down the list," he says, clicking the pen open and dropping his eyes down to the page he's scribbling on.

_No, look back up at me, let me see your eyes!_

"You were gravely late," he intones, and draws a line through the words he just wrote. "You are barefoot, in stained jeans, with bare arms, untidy hair and nails, no makeup, and…" He taps the pen on the notepad, letting his eyes flick back up to my face. Wow, those EYES. I need to-

"And," he says with more than a hint of arrogance in his voice, "and there are paint smudges on your face." He sets the pad and pen back on the desk and leans back in his chair. "That, coupled with your lack of experience and resume makes me wonder: How did you ever think you would get this job?"

That's it, I can't hold it in anymore. "I need to paint your eyes," I blurt.

-=+=-

THAT catches him off-guard. "What?"

"Your eyes, your eyes!" I'm excited now that I've said it. I rise from my chair and point to his face. "I need to paint your eyes RIGHT NOW."

He regains his composure and frowns. "Miss Whithead, this is highly unprofessional behavior on your part. Settle yourself-"

But I'm not listening, I'm looking around for something to use. "Give me that notepad!" I cry, and I reach over the desk and grab it before he can object. "I need, I need…I need something to color with," I gasp desperately. "Do you have a blue pen and a black pen?"

He stares (scratch that, GLARES) at me like I'm crazy. Maybe I am, but that's not important right now.

"Please, I need them quick! Hurry, before the moment is gone!" I pound a fist on the desk eagerly. "Please, please!"

Without a word, without removing his gaze, he opens the top desk drawer and extracts two cheap, disposable ballpoint pens; one black, one blue.

"PERFECT! Thanks!" I snatch them from his hand. "Now, don't move, and don't stop looking like that!"

Tearing the pad open to a new sheet, I glance up at his eyes (I mean, they're actually GLOWING) and begin to sketch with the black pen, swooping lines, no need to press down yet, just go over and over and over them.

Mr Kaiba doesn't speak, he just sits there, glowering at me as I hunch over the paper and my pen, trying to cram everything those eyes express to me into this one simple picture.

"Oneberry, twoberry," I mutter under my breath, working feverishly as the eyes begin to unfold in front of me, deepening and blackening my former lines. "Pick me a blueberry, hatberry, shoeberry."

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. Not only do I talk to myself at inopportune moments, I also sometimes recite passages from children's books while I'm working hard.

"In my canoeberry."

It's kind of involuntary. There, now the eyes are drawn.

Only pausing to glance up at his eyes again, I crack open the blue pen, extract the ink tube, remove the nib and blow through the cartridge.

The ink collects on the end of the tube, then drips and puddles into my cupped palm. Unsatisfied with the thickness of my makeshift fingerpaint, I work up a little saliva, then dribble into my hand and stir the liquid with my pinkie.

I know, I know. It's disgusting, the lengths I go to in order to make things. But art is sometimes disgusting, you know? And it can involve human fluids other than the ubiquitous blood, sweat and tears.

That's the BEAUTY of it, you see? Sometimes, you just know what you need to do to make art accessible. When it's done right, the result is better than you expected, because it portrays the ROUGHNESS of the situation, the ways you've been forced to use your natural CREATIVITY to make things happen, and that's why I try to be inventive and resourceful when the muse rises.

"Over the bridge and under the dam," I continue, using my fingertips to dab and smear the ink into the eyes, to trace it into and around and through them. "Searching for berries, berries for…"

With a sharp intake of breath, I pause to take in what's been done. There, in front of me, is a pair of eyes, separated by the bridge of a nose, sketched with fine black lines, etched and traced with deep black kohl. They are an inky dark blue, finger-daubed in a circle around the pupils, looking like deep wells that go on and on and on and will never stop.

The ink is shiny and wet in some places still, and smudged a little from my arm, but the effect, the purpose, is still the same. I look once more at Mr Kaiba's eyes, and exhale in relief. "…berries for jam."

The final touch: in the left corner I put my trademark signature, my left thumb print and a little apple stem on top, the same blue as the eyes. "Apple Whithead's work."

Looking back up to Mr Kaiba, I grin and show him the picture. "Look, these are your eyes. See? Aren't they beautiful?"

His gaze is hard, stony cold, and his voice is veined with ice. "Get out."

THAT deflates me. "W-What?"

He stands abruptly, circles the desk and seizes my wrist, yanking so I'm forced to stand and look into his face. "I said, GET OUT."

"But…" I'm at a loss for words. "But your eyes…"

"Stop talking about my eyes and LOOK at yourself," he hisses. "You're making a fool out of yourself."

"S-Sir, you're hurting me."

He continues as if he didn't hear me. "Snatching and breaking office supplies, drooling into ink and smudging it onto paper like paint, gibbering to yourself about berries like a LUNATIC. Calling this worthless doodle "my eyes". Do you see how ridiculous you've been?"

"How ridiculous I'VE been?" Suddenly, this guy is pissing me off. "Art might not always take a form that you understand, or that you agree with, or even think is relevant. But art, true art, always MEANS something to someone. If it causes you to think, or to FEEL, either positively or negatively, then it has served and fulfilled a purpose. How ridiculous I might look bringing it into life doesn't matter to me. And you're an appallingly shallow person if you aren't going to hire me based on a personal hang-up on how I look rather than who I am as a person."

His mouth slightly open, he appears to be at a loss for words. He just stands there, still grasping my wrist, staring in a blank, confused way.

"Now," I say coolly, "Let go of me."

He releases my hand and takes a step back.

"Here." I reach into my back pocket, pull out some yen, and smack it down onto the desk with a satisfying THWACK. "I'm taking the notebook. Sorry about the pens. I'll see myself out."

He STILL won't take his eyes off me. He can't say a thing.

"Have a nice day, Mr Kaiba," I say as sincerely as I can, turning on my heel with the notepad clutched to my chest, and I exit the room, the floor, the building as quietly as I can.

Once my feet slap the sidewalk, I walk and walk until I hit the closest public park I can find.

Finally now, I can collapse. I flop onto my back and soak in the early afternoon sunshine.

Already it's so warm that the earlier rain has dried up, and the sound of kids laughing comes from a swingset somewhere near me. Two schoolboys are seated on a park bench discussing the benefits of trading versus buying Duelmonster cards.

It's very peaceful out here, now that I'm out of that office.

"I'm not cut out for work at KaibaCorp, anyways," I tell myself.

The grass is so warm under me, and soft and springy. I close my eyes and just lie there…

A shrill voice interrupts my little catnap. "Oww! Ow, my knee! My knee! OWWWW!"

-=+=-

Author's notes: Still early stages for this fic, but I definitely felt inspired today (this covers four notebook pages of work, back to front). The children's book quote is from Jamberry by Bruce Degen, which is a very special book from my childhood. Please do tell me what you think, it's good for me to have criticism (even negative criticism). And for anyone looking for info on Hitachiin Exploits, YES, I'll release something by Sunday night AT THE LATEST.

And I love you all. Kisses!


	3. Chapter 3

A shrill voice interrupts my little catnap. "Oww! Ow, my knee! My knee! OWWWW!"

Immediately, I sit up. Over near the sidewalk, a dark-haired kid is lying on his side, clutching his knee. His free leg kicks angrily, and his face is screwed up like he's trying not to cry. "Ow, ow ow ow ow!"

I jump to my feet, jog over there and kneel by his side. "Can you move your toes?" I ask.

His eyes fly open and he gives me a strange look through his teary, red-rimmed eyes. "Huh? Who are you?"

"Not important, just wiggle your toes and let me see."

We stare down at his foot together. I'm relieved to see the tip of his shoe bump up and down as he moves his toes. "Okay, nothing's broken. Now, tell me what's wrong."

He sniffs. "I was running, and I tripped on my shoelace and fell down, and my kneeeeee hurrrrrts…" he whines. I'm guessing he's ten, but he definitely can't be more than twelve years old.

"Let me see it." I lay a hand on his and try to tug it away.

His eyes go wide and he clamps down harder on his knee. "No! It hurts too much!"

"If I don't see it, I won't know how big a band-aid to use."

"Noooooooo," he wails, "I don't wanna."

"Suit yourself, then." I stand up and brush off my jeans. "Don't come crying to me when it gets infected and falls off. You'll be like a pirate with a peg knee."

His lip begins to tremble. I think he's unsure whether to laugh or cry at the thought. "Okay, you can take a peek. Just don't touch it!"

"I won't if I don't have to. Now, let go gently and it won't hurt so much."

Slowly, he relaxes his death-grip, lifting his hands slightly and sliding them away to reveal a hole torn in his jeans from which his knee juts out like a fleshtone island on the denim-blue sea.

A roughly iPod-sized patch of skin has been brutally skidded away, leaving a raw red patch that is slightly oozing blood, but on the whole is not too bad.

Whimpering, he looks from the scrape to me.

"Good news," I inform him. "You don't have to go to the hospital for that. I can fix it up."

I reach over to brush away a few stray chunks of gravel embedded in his wound. He immediately jerks up a hand to block mine. "NO! You promised not to touch it!"

"Do you know the story," I say softly, "of how the dog and cat became enemies?"

He is wary. "No…"

"Once upon a time, they were friends. Then one day, the dog was in the kitchen when he smelled a ham sitting up on the counter."

As I talk, I pull my emergency band-aid kit from my back pocket. He frowns. "Why are you carrying all that stuff with you?"

"I have three little brothers and two younger sisters. I'm used to this kind of thing. Do you want to hear the story or not?"

He shuts up.

"Try as he might," I continue, "the dog could not reach the ham on the counter. So he went to find his friend the cat, who he knew would be able to reach it."

I tear the foil from an antibacterial wipe and use it to gently, GENTLY, brush his knee. He winces a little, but does not take his eyes from my face. "So he got the cat, and then what?"

"As they walked together to the kitchen, the dog (who was a little on the silly side) began to sing, in a very low voice, "Yum yum, our ham, our ham!" But the cat, who was very sly and proud creature, sang to herself, _Yum yum, MY ham, MY ham._"

I sing the cat's song in a high, squeaky voice that makes the kid giggle. Encouraged, I tear the paper from a giant knee-bandage and continue. "When they reached the kitchen, the agile cat was able to hop up on the counter easily. When she saw the ham, she licked her lips. It was, indeed, a very sweet and delicious-looking ham. She gobbled as much as she could right away."

Smearing a little ointment on the gauze of the knee-patch, I line it up with his scrape.

"When the cat finally pushed the ham off the counter onto the floor, the dog was bewildered to see it had already been eaten up.

"There you go, dog," the cat purred from up on the counter, "you may have the rest of my ham, yum yum, MY ham."

The dog was very upset that the cat had played such a mean trick on him. He told her, "Cat, I will not be your friend anymore. When you come down here, I will chase you from the house and up a tree. And I'll do it for the rest of our lives."

And so, dogs and cats everywhere have been enemies ever since."

The kid looks thoughtful. "I don't think that's true. The cat in your story is too mean."

"I think the cat knew she was cunning, and she got what she deserved for taking advantage of the poor, slow dog. Don't you think?"

He shrugs. "I guess."

"How's the knee, kid?"

He sniffs, then wipes his nose on his sleeve. "Better. But I don't feel like playing anymore," he says sullenly.

"Okay then. Where's your mom and dad?"

He's quiet for a sec. "My big brother isn't here, he's at work."

Oh. Oops. Damage control time.

"Uh, what's your name, kid?"

"Mokuba."

"Alright, Mokuba." I hand him my cell phone. "Call your brother and tell him where you are."

We sit on a nearby park bench as he dials the number.

"Hey, Seto. Yeah." His voice gets sad. "Yeah, I fell down and scraped my knee pretty bad. I don't wanna play anymore. Can you send the limo back for me?"

Hold up. Limo?

He turns to beam at me as he talks. "No, it's fine. A lady here had band-aids and fixed it for me."

Suddenly, there is shouting on the other end of the line. Mokuba's face falls faster than a popped balloon.

"No, Seto, I feel fine. No, she didn't give me any pills. No, I didn't touch any needles! What?" He looks at me. "What was that goop you put on my knee called?"

I hand him the tiny tube of ointment.

"She only used a little stuff called…" He pauses, squinting at the label. "…nee-AH-spa-rin. Seto, will you- No, you- I can't tell her tha-"

The phone falls silent. Mokuba looks up at me again. "Sorry, but my big brother told me to tell you to stay still until he gets here." He looks sheepish. "Sorry, lady."

Figures, an overprotective older brother. I pat him on the shoulder.

"That's okay, Mokuba. By the way, my name's Apple."

He giggles. "That's a funny name. Tell me another story."

I cross my arms. "Jeez, my six-year old brother is more polite that you."

"Sorry." He has the good grace to blush. "Will you tell me another story, Apple-san?"

"Sure, but only because you asked so nice." I lean back a little and stare at the sky. "Did you ever hear the one about the king with dirty feet?"

-=+=-

I'm in the middle of telling Mokuba how King Zack of Hackensack rode around on Sir Jack's back to keep his feet from getting dirty, when a car suddenly screeches to a halt at the edge of the park.

Scratch that, limo.

Before the chauffer can get out and reach the passenger door, it flies open and a very, very irate looking man emerges. He scans the park, and like a missile, his eyes lock on Mokuba. He begins to stomp towards us.

His eyes…

Oh, my God.

"It's YOU!" I cry in recognition.

When he sees me, he turns an exciting shade of livid purple. And comes towards us even faster.

I hiss at Mokuba, "So you're a Kaiba then, huh?"

He looks at me in surprise. "Is that a problem?"

When he reaches the bench, Mokuba can hardly utter a "Hey, Seto!" before Mr Kaiba can grab his arm and jerk him away from me. "Go to the limo immediately, Mokuba," he growls at the boy.

To me, he points a finger. "You'll be in serious legal trouble if my brother has been exposed to anything due to your interference."

Huh? What is he saying?

"I'm sorry you're upset," I say as calmly as possible, "but I was only trying to help Mokuba. What was I supposed to do, leave him there?"

He grabs my arm for the second time this day and pulls me close so he can snarl in my ear. "How about staying out of my and my family's business, you lunatic? I don't know anything about you, how am I supposed to know if you're shooting up or something? If Mokuba has been exposed to HIV…" He tightens his grip.

"HELP!" I shriek, "I DON'T WANT TO TAKE MY CLOTHES OFF! HELP ME, SOMEBODY!"

Haha, THAT gets everybody's attention. A woman pushing a stroller down the sidewalk pauses to glare at Mr Kaiba, then shifts her eyes to me. "I have a brick in my purse, miss."

"Thank you," I say gratefully as Mr Kaiba releases me and takes a step away, "but that won't be necessary. I seem to be fine."

"Well," and here she narrows her eyes at Mr Kaiba again, "If you DO need help, you just shout."

As she walks away, pushing her pram and turning back to watch us for a second, Kaiba stares at me incredulously. "I can't believe you just did that."

"So, do you feel like settling our differences like rational adults, or would you rather be beat by the common man, or should I say woman, in a public park, Mr Kaiba?" I smile at him brightly.

His eyes become dark, and I'm stricken with the urge to start again and draw them a second time. "Get in the limo," he instructs me.

"No, thanks. I tend to refuse rides from psychopaths who commit assault twice on the same day."

Mokuba appears around the edge of Mr Kaiba's long jacket. "Please, Apple-san. Ride with us." His eyes are wide with fright at the tense domestic scene taking place right in front of him.

My heart breaks for this poor little kid. "Well, okay then, Mokuba. As long as I'm getting a ride back to my place and not to KaibaCorp."

Kaiba shifts to one side and gestures with one hand. "Fine. Now hurry up."

Mokuba brightens at this. "C'mon, Apple-san!" He grabs my hand and fairly PULLS me to the limo, hopping in and scooting over for me to sit down next to him.

Mr Kaiba is right behind us. With one smooth motion, he swings inside the roomy interior, snaps his fingers at the chauffer, and says, "Drive around the block."

Sitting in a limo, my fingers entwined and tucked between my legs, I stare uncertainly at the beautiful yet cold eyes across from me.

"So, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way," Mr Kaiba informs me.

-=+=-

Author's notes: Whew! I stayed up too late to write this, especially with class in the morning; but I do it because I appreciate my readers so much!

Story one is an adaptation of a story my Dad told me once. The second story is taken from The Dirty, Smelly King by Sir Hackney Mackinack. Apologies for using the copyrighted names Band-Aid and Neosporin. And please review if you feel so inclined! I love you all. Kisses!


	4. Chapter 4

"So, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way," Mr Kaiba informs me. "What'll it be, Miss Whithead?"

Jeez, this guy is totally clueless. "First of all, Mr Kaiba, my name is APPLE. Secondly, the only place I'm riding with you in this limo is back to my apartment. Not "around the block" so you can interrogate me. Thirdly, I don't see why I should be doing ANYTHING for you, easy and hard ways be damned, when you have been so rude and abusive to me on the first day we've met."

My outburst is met with nothing more than a quirked eyebrow. "You certainly do have a temper, Miss Whithead."

Oh, that is IT. Temper? I'll effing SHOW him temper.

"You wanna know if I have AIDS and gave it to your little brother while I was giving him first aid?" I explode. "FINE. Apple Whithead, THIS IS YOUR LIFE."

I flip over my arms and shove them, palms up, into his face. "No tracks, no cuts." I pull down my eyelids. "They're not bloodshot or dilated." I bare my teeth in a grim parody of a smile. "My teeth are a HEALTHY shade of white, not smoke-stained OR bleached into submission. My hair is the exact color it was when I was born. I suffer no crippling addictions, I am not leprous or full of Ebola, hell, I'm not even suffering from a head cold! I go to classes at Domino Tech, I do art in my spare time. I haven't been off of Japan since my dad moved us here twelve years ago from the States."

Digging into a pocket, I take a deep breath and continue.

"Here's a picture of my family." I thrust it at him. "I have five, count 'em, FIVE younger siblings. I've been changing diapers since I could read "Green Eggs and Ham" by myself. I tried to smoke a white crayon like a cigarette when I was in second grade. I ate paste in sixth grade on a dare. I ate peanut shells in tenth grade just to see what they were like. Three days ago, I licked a drop of blue acrylic paint off my arm rather than wipe it on my jeans. I bathe regularly, I throw away gum rather than swallow it, I wash my clothes every two weeks. I live in an apartment, not in squalor, and I never, EVER, use public bathrooms. And, most importantly-" I grab his jacket collar and yank him close to my face.

"And most importantly, I NEVER HAVE UNPROTECTED SEX BECAUSE I'M A VIRGIN, YOU WORMY, EGOTISTICAL, COWARDLY, UNCOUTH SON OF A BITCH." This I hiss in his hear as clearly as I can, cupping my hand so that Mokuba can't see or hear what I'm calling his brother.

I mean, far be it from me to destroy this kid's image of his older brother. Mr Kaiba can do it himself.

"So, there." I release Mr Kaiba and let him sink back in his seat. "I didn't give your brother any pills, I used a sterile antibacterial wipe on his skin and my hands before I did ANYTHING, and I used a fresh, pre-wrapped band-aid I pulled from the box this morning, which I bought roughly two months ago using money I obtained through perfectly legal methods. Does all of that satisfy you?"

Mokuba, to his credit, has not said a word. His eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head, though.

Kaiba, too, is staring at me in a very strange way. "You're the most volatile and emotional girl I've ever met. Is there a history of mental problems in your family?"

I don't care what he thinks of me anymore. I've purged my anger at Mr Kaiba, and I feel much better.

Turning around in my seat, I inform the chauffeur, "I live on Surpassing Lane on the west side of Domino, thank you."

Without acknowledging me, the driver flicks his gaze to the rearview mirror. Mr Kaiba tilts his head in affirmation, and the driver hits the turn signal.

Normally, I would be irritated at this, but I'm feeling mellow now that I've shouted out my feelings. Maybe later I'll try to paint my anger. I envision a red splatter on my fridge, with canary yellow swabs and maybe bright purple on the edges.

Unconsciously, I reach up to fiddle with my blue butterfly necklace as I stare out the window and think. The scenery passing by…and me in a limo…it's almost surreal.

The air in the limo is totally still…and there's no sound. Like, not even engine noise. This is like a scene in a creepy movie. Like, the awkward quiet moment when the girl has been through the house and there's nothing wrong, and she stands very still, and lets out a sigh of relief.

And then THE KILLER JUMPS OUT OF THE CLOSET AND STABS HER WITH A STEAK FORK.

A hand on my leg makes me jump. "Anou, Apple-san…" Mokuba's voice shatters the quiet. "What happened to King Zack and Sir Jack?"

For a moment, I'm confused.

"The story," he prompts me.

"OH! Well, Mokuba, King Zack hopped up on Sir Jack's back so his feet wouldn't get dirty. Of course, poor Sir Jack had to carry the king everywhere. And the king needed to cut back on the snacks, if you know what I mean."

Relieved to finally be doing something, I keep Mokuba in throes of laughter while telling the rest of the story. Every once in a while, I steal a glance at Mr Kaiba. He isn't watching me anymore, he's staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts.

He's so…brooding. Wonder what he's thinking about.

"And the king's feet have been dirty ever since."

Mokuba grins expectantly. "But the king had just gotten new shoes, hadn't he? Why were his feet dirty?"

In my best royal voice, I proclaim, "Are you crazy?! My shoes are brand new! I don't want to RUIN them by wearing them all the time!"

Mokuba clutches his stomach and laughs even harder. "You should be on TV, Apple! You're so funny!"

"Actually, I'd really like to be a children's librarian," I tell him. "I'd love to sit and read books to little kids all day."

"What DO you do all day?" Mr Kaiba asks softly. He doesn't stop looking out the window.

Surprised at this, I have to think before I can answer. "I'm taking computer maintenance courses at Domino Tech, I do art, I…uh… I used to play Duelmonsters," I admit.

"Seto duels too," interjects Mokuba. "Maybe you two could duel together." He looks up at his brother for confirmation.

Mr Kaiba says nothing. This is becoming awkward again.

"No way, Mokuba. I stopped dueling because I'm so bad at it."

He grins. "Then maybe you and I should duel instead. How about it?"

I notice we're close to my apartment building. "Sure, maybe someday." I call forward to the chauffeur, "This is far enough, thank you."

As he pulls over to the curb, I unbuckle my seatbelt. "Thanks for the ride, Mr Kaiba."

"Just Kaiba." He STILL won't look at me. He's staring out the window at my neighborhood; I can't tell if he likes the look of things or not.

"Okay then, Kaiba. Sir. Thank you for getting me here." I turn to Mokuba. "See you, Mokuba. Try to be a little more careful about tying your shoes from now on."

"Hai, Apple-san!" He beams at me. "Thanks for patching me up. See you soon?"

The door of the car opens for me. I scoot across the seat to the exit. "Maybe," I fudge, not wanting to cause problems between Kaiba and Mokuba. "Sorry about shouting at you, Kaiba."

Without a word, he lifts his hand and waves me out of the limo like a fly. I catch a final glimpse of his dangerous, gorgeous eyes as they slide over to watch me get out of the car. Suddenly self-conscious, I fiddle with my butterfly as I thank the chauffeur.

"No trouble, Miss." He tilts his cap, shuts the door and begins to shuffle back to the driver's side.

"Hey, um…"

He turns around. "Yes, Miss?"

Suddenly at a loss for words, I stutter. "W-will he…um…"

With a look of understanding, he turns around again. "No worry, Miss," he calls over his shoulder. "Young Mokuba won't suffer any further punishment for soliciting help from a stranger. I daresay, your outburst gave Mr Kaiba something to think about. Have a nice day."

I lift a hand as he steps back into the car. "You too."

Well then.

The limo lingers at the sidewalk for another few seconds, then sleekly and smoothly pulls away. I watch it as it drives down the road.

A small hand pops out of the sunroof and waves at me.

Suddenly, I'm laughing. I wave back at Mokuba and turn to walk back to my apartment.

However, a sign appearing in the local hair salon intrigues me. "Help wanted?"

I look up to the sky. "Is this a sign?" I ask whoever might be up there.

The young guy hanging the sign in the window suddenly steps out the door. "Hey, you. Do you want a job?"

I guess that's a major yes. I take a step towards the entrance. "Sure."

"Great." He smacks his hands together. "You're hired. My name's Steve Holtz, and I own Snippershak." He sticks out a hand.

"I'm Apple." I shake the offered hand lightly.

"Okay, if you come in tomorrow morning at 9, I'll tell you what to do. The hours aren't very flexible, I need you all day for a few days a week, but you have nights and the weekend free, and the pay's okay. Still interested?"

"Sure." I leave him with a guarantee to come back and a smile on my face.

All told, today's not been half bad. I vented my anger on a total stranger, made a kid smile, got a job and, most importantly, I have my picture of eyes.

I pull the notebook from my tank top, where I've had it tucked up since the park. I take a good, hard look at them. "These are Kaiba's eyes. I have them forever now."

With another big smile to myself, I skip all the way back up to my apartment. It's time…to paint!

-=+=-

Author's Notes: Apple is such a fun girl to write! I really do enjoy this story, and I hope you guys like it too… New Hitachiin Exploits coming Saturday night at the latest, so stay tuned! Thanks to all y'all who have reviewed my stuff, I really really appreciate your words of encouragement. I love all of you. Kisses!


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